


Next Time

by fanfoolishness (LoonyLupin), LoonyLupin



Series: Sod It All: Dis Brosca x Alistair Theirin [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-04-02 02:00:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4041382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/fanfoolishness, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoonyLupin/pseuds/LoonyLupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair needs a haircut.  Naturally, he turns to the Warden for help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Next Time

Dis Brosca let out a sigh as she stepped out of her tent, relishing the feel of simple woolens and linens after a long day’s stint in her heavy armor.  She brushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, tucking them back behind her ears and into one of the braided buns she always wore.  She glanced around for Alistair and saw him sitting by the fire, his face freshly scrubbed clean, his hair still damp from his bath in the pond.  The others were scattered around the campsite, cleaning weapons or tidying their things.

Dis joined Alistair on the blanket in front of the fire, settling down next to him and leaning her head against his shoulder.  “You look deep in thought.”

“Yes, that’s me, all right,” said Alistair.  He turned to her and grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head where her hair was parted.  “I was just contemplating something a bit silly, that’s all.”

“You and silliness?  I’d never dream such a thing,” said Dis drily.

“Scoff if you must, but it’s true,” said Alistair with a grand sort of tone.  He reached up one hand and ruffled his damp hair.  With it wet like that, she could see how it fell into his hazel eyes, reddish-blond strands slightly curling with the weight of the water.  “I realized I’m in dire need of a haircut.  All this tramping about in the wilderness for weeks on end, and my hair’s got the audacity to keep growing.  It’s threatening to go every which way, and I don’t need any more distractions on the battlefield.  After all, your beauty is distracting enough.”

She snorted.  “Yes, I’m quite lovely when I’m covered in blood, swinging an axe, and summoning up a berserker’s blood rage to destroy my enemies.”

“Right, that’s exactly what I mean,” said Alistair, nodding.  “I can barely focus enough as it is.  You’re practically a force of nature when you’re out there.   Like a thunderstorm, or a forest fire, or some other fascinating and especially deadly weather event.  I can barely keep my eyes off of you.  So any other distraction is bound to do me in, and then you’ll have no one to caboodle with.”

“Sounds serious,” she murmured, chuckling at the idea that her small dwarven frame could hold its own with a thunderstorm.   She laced her arm with his.  “What should we do about your problem, then?  I expect Leliana knows all about keeping one’s hair in order.  Or Zevran.  I would avoid asking Shale, however.”

“I thought… maybe you could cut it for me?” Alistair stammered.  

She arched her eyebrow, surprised at how suddenly bashful he looked.  “Me?  But I wouldn’t know the first thing about it.”  She gestured to the braids at the back of her head.  “My hair has  _never_  been cut.  It’s a dwarf thing.”

“And it’s truly beautiful,” he said, reaching out and brushing the loose strands back behind her ear.  By the Stone, those few strands were always giving her trouble.  “But I don’t fancy the look for myself, and I don’t know, I thought it would be nice if it were you cutting it for me.  Sort of… charmingly domestic.”

“You’re not satisfied with our current level of domesticity?” Dis asked in mock indignation.  She swept a hand out in front of her at the heavily patched tents, the guttering fire, the Mabari grunting and rolling in a swath of mud.  She leaned up and kissed him.  “All right, you’ve got a point.  Well.  I can give it my best effort, but you’d better hope Wynne or Morrigan can magic it back to something decent if I muck this up.”

“It’s a deal,” he said.

***

She mucked it up.

Alistair sat with his back against a log next to the fire, his shirt off and sitting next to him so as to not collect the strands of fair hair falling from her clumsily wielded scissors.  He seemed content, leaning into her touch, making little noises of appreciation at the way her fingers ran through his hair.  

Dis was not enjoying herself nearly as much, despite the lovely view of Alistair’s back and shoulders, but she tried not to let Alistair know.  It had all seemed so simple at first.  She had started with the bits at the back of his neck, starting to curl against his skin.  A few snicks and she had a fairly straight line again.  At that point she had almost felt pleased with herself, convinced that the rest would be just as simple.  The parts around his ears weren’t so bad, either.  She simply had to follow the shape of them, and trim the length of his short sideburns just a bit.  But she began to run into trouble at the back of his head, where the hair poofed out and stuck up in one part.  She trimmed it, but it looked too short.  So the rest of the hair next to it had to go, too.  And then with the part in the front, where it stuck up so adorably –

She stared down at the chunks of hair in Alistair’s lap, and gulped.

“You’re… awfully quiet back there, dear,” said Alistair cautiously.

“Just planning my next move!” she said in as bright a voice as she could muster.  “Stay still.”  She caught Leliana’s eye from across the fire and stared hopelessly at the other woman, mouthing  _I don’t know what I’m doing, help me!_ but Leliana merely took one look at Alistair and clapped her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle.  “Fine, don’t help,” she muttered under her breath.

“What was that?” he asked.

“Nothing!  Nothing, just talking to myself, that’s all,” she said.  She glared at the back of his head.  There were tufts.  And patches.  And he was starting to look unfortunately moth-ridden, or perhaps as if he had picked up a case of lice.  And his fringe was undeniably crooked, but if she trimmed it to make it even, it would be ludicrously short.  She bit her lip and went in with the scissors to straighten the fringe regardless.  Alistair puffed out a breath, blowing bits of hair away from his face.

Dis surveyed the back of his head miserably.  How had everything gone so wrong?  She was a Grey Warden of Ferelden, a decent person trying to save the world, and yet her lover’s hair looked as if someone had taken a hacksaw to it.  She heaved a huge, silent sigh.  

“You stay there,” she said, defeated.  “Just need to grab something.”

“Your desire is my command,” said Alistair, but she could hear a note of worry in his voice.  “Er… everything all right?”

She slipped off, hurriedly rummaging in her tent.  She called back over her shoulder, “Everything’s fine!  You’re looking – you’re looking great!”  She tossed aside an old splintmail breastplate and a pair of battered greaves, searching for something.  Ah.  There it was.  She grabbed it and trotted back to the fireside, sitting down next to him and hiding something behind her back.  

He looked warmly at her.  “Something’s gone horribly wrong, hasn’t it?”  A smile spread across his face.

“You could say that,” Dis said begrudgingly.  “I’m so sorry, Alistair.  But I did warn you.”

“You did,” he said, running his hand over his hair.  He winced slightly, feeling the divots where the length was horribly uneven, his fingers hesitating over his unnaturally short fringe.  “Well, luckily no one’s got a mirror.  And it _is_  shorter.”

Out of the corner of her eye Dis saw Zevran pulling a small mirror out of his knapsack and flashing it at her, a wicked grin on his face.  She fixed him with the most evil glare she could muster; he looked as if he was going to open his mouth to speak, then thought better of it and  casually slipped the mirror back into his pack.

“No, nobody does,” she said firmly.  She sighed.  “Well, this seems a good a time as any to give you this.”  She held out a gleaming silverite helmet.  “It’s nice and sturdy.  And protective.  And it will… keep the hair out of your eyes.”

Alistair struggled to keep the grin from his face, succeeding only by kissing her.  “Thank you, dear.”  His hands closed over hers on the helmet.  “And perhaps next time Leliana can give you a few pointers.”

“I’m relieved you’ve forgiven me enough that there’s going to be a next time.”

Alistair’s grin changed to a look of deep concern.  “Just how long am I going to need to wear this helmet for?  What  _have_  you done?”

Dis reached out, letting one small, calloused hand rest against the back of his neck.  She pulled him down to her, letting their foreheads touch in a gentle, intimate gesture.  He sighed, clearly relishing the closeness between them.  Softly she said, “…it’ll grow back.  Eventually.”

His undignified squawk made her ears ring, but the laughter they collapsed in afterwards was almost worth it.  She already couldn’t wait for next time. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is total silly fluff and I'm afraid I couldn't help myself.


End file.
